


Imaginary Numbers

by Vae



Category: The Prisoner (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>909 is something in security. 909 is an Undercover. 909 reports to Two.</p><p>909 has arms that occasionally distract 11-12 from the subject under discussion enough that he's thankful he isn't expected to take an active part in the conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imaginary Numbers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bakcheia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakcheia/gifts).



Two calls 11-12 his son.

Two calls himself 11-12's father.

11-12 knows that Two is his father because he's been told.

11-12 does not feel like Two is his father.

11-12 is not sure what having a father feels like.

~~

When he's at home, when he's anywhere that Two might be or might come to, 11-12 listens to Puccini. Two has told 11-12 that he likes Puccini.

With the music washing over him, calm, detached, methodical and predictable, 11-12 wonders what 'like' means.

Alone in his room, expecting Two to at least knock before entering, 11-12 prefers silence. It feels more real than music that he can't connect to, no matter how many times Two tells him that he likes it.

~~

11-12 goes to the Go-Inside Bar because he's expected to. He's old enough; young men act out, he's told. 11-12 feels restless, but has no particular urge to go to the bar specifically. Not until he's there.

This isn't Puccini. This isn't cerebral. This isn't even complex. This is music that belongs in the bar and lives there, alive and pulsing, making 11-12 aware of his heartbeat in a way he can't remember happening before. His heartbeat, his body, pulling him into the immediate present, sharp and visceral and unexpectedly exhilarating. The bass beats with his heart, the treble drowns the sound of chattering voices, making it easy to slip off his jacket and slide into the crowd, following the music into movement and freedom.

It _is_ freedom. 11-12 knows exactly how much of an illusion freedom is, but in this moment, he doesn't care. In this moment, he's not thinking or analysing. He's just _being_ , startled into laughter that stops the moment he turns and locks eyes with 909.

~~

909 works for Two.

909 is background noise, another face, another body who appears both at Palais Two and in private meetings. None of Two's meetings are private from 11-12. 11-12 is there, always, shadowing Two, learning. One day, maybe, 11-12 will be Two, and he'll need to know the intricate layers of control that Two uses to keep the Village stable.

909 is something in security. 909 is an Undercover. 909 reports to Two.

909 has arms that occasionally distract 11-12 from the subject under discussion enough that he's thankful he isn't expected to take an active part in the conversation.

~~

The music's still loud, and the bass is still strong enough to feel in his chest, but the elation's vanished. 11-12 stops and stares, resentment rising, then jerks his head to the side before turning abruptly on his heel.

It's unreasonable. 11-12 knows it's unreasonable. He didn't have any expectations of enjoying himself at the bar, but he's only more annoyed that his unexpected pleasure's been destroyed so soon after being discovered. Of course Two has someone watching him. Of _course_.

He's not even halfway to the door when a hand closes on his shoulder. It stops him out of sheer shock. People don't touch 11-12. His status as Two's son keeps other people at a distance, more out of fear than respect, but there's no fear or respect in that hand. Or distance. It's warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, strong and surprisingly heavy. Nearly as warm as the breath that touches his ear a moment later.

"There are just as many cameras outside," 909 says, low and close, closer than the music, closer than 11-12 expects. "In here, they won't hear us."

Not as clearly, anyway. 11-12 nods slowly, taking a deep breath to ease tension from his shoulders. "And?"

909's hand lightens, moving down 11-12's arm to his wrist, hesitating before covering his hand. "I'm not here for you."

It stings, sharp and sudden, thoughts that 11-12 had barely acknowledged dying before they have chance to grow into ideas, hopes. "You're working."

"Yes, but..." 909's hand falls away, air cooler on 11-12's skin where it was.

11-12 waits a moment longer, then shrugs it off, continuing towards the door, not looking back.

~~

11-12 is too stubborn to let one encounter keep him away from the Go-Inside Bar.

It's the only bar the Village has.

~~

11-12 learns to dance. He learns to drink. He learns to ignore the way the crowds part around him and to make them his audience, to subvert their rejection into something under his own control until the night comes that people don't flinch away.

11-12 is still Two's son, but here, _here_ , he can be 11-12. Just 11-12. Not quite anonymous, not quite ignored, not quite accepted, but not more or less than who he is.

Two knows where he is, and 11-12 knows that Two knows where he is. Two probably also knows what 11-12 drinks and every person he dances with, the girls, the boys, the men. The difference is that, this time, 11-12 doesn't care.

Two never mentions the Go-Inside Bar.

11-12 lies back on the sofa, closes his eyes, and lets Puccini drift over him as his mind replays the rhythm of bodies dancing to more vital music.

~~

Some nights, 909 is at the bar. 11-12 hasn't missed that 909 prefers to dress in black, that his t-shirts fit snugly enough to show muscles that occasionally distract 11-12 even more than 909's arms, that his jeans curve closely over his ass but aren't tight enough to stop him moving freely as he dances.

11-12 continues to wear white. It's not a statement.

(It is a statement.)

~~

Some days, 909 meets with Two. By day, 909 wears looser clothing and avoids 11-12's eyes.

11-12 keeps to his white suits, and stares directly at 909 until the day 909 stops looking away, and starts looking back.

~~

The Go-Inside Bar doesn't change. The lighting is low, the music is loud, the beer is cold, the dancefloor is full. 11-12 has stopped wearing a jacket, and his t-shirt is tighter than the first time, but his slacks are still white and his sneakers are still pale.

11-12 leans back against a pillar, watching the dancers. Waiting. People pass, and some look at him. He doesn't look back. He's waiting for the chance to see one person. One man.

909 isn't a short man. He's not a tall man; he seems that way to 11-12, but 11-12 is well aware that he isn't all that tall either. 909 isn't tall enough to be seen above the dancing crowd, so 11-12 has to wait for the eddies to move to give him a clear view, and for that view to happen at a time 909 is looking in his direction.

It's easy to spot when it happens. For a moment, just a moment, 909 falters, hands falling to his sides. It's enough.

11-12 takes another drink from the bottle of beer in his hand, pushes away from the pillar, and makes himself wait. His shoulders sing tight, heartbeat louder in his head than the bass pulsing an echo, and his grip tightens on the bottle until one finger slips against the condensation beading the glass.

909 appears at the edge of the dancefloor, comes out of the crowd, and 11-12 finally allows himself to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ~spock and lisb1121 for beta notes, they were amazingly helpful! Any errors remaining are entirely my own responsibility.


End file.
